


When you are king

by claudine



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Era, Comment Fic, M/M, Massage, Pre-coronation, Rimming, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-31
Updated: 2012-07-31
Packaged: 2017-11-11 02:59:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/473755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudine/pseuds/claudine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of Uther’s illness, the responsibilities had been transferred to Arthur who had become Prince Regent in his father’s place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When you are king

**Author's Note:**

> Commentfic written for two anon prompts: stress relief rimming & massage, originally written about a month ago.  
> Thanks to **[sorrylatenew](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sorrylatenew/pseuds/sorrylatenew)** for going over this so quickly and thoroughly!

In the wake of Uther’s illness, the responsibilities had been transferred to Arthur who had become Prince Regent in his father’s place.

The first few months were difficult—the sudden deluge of decree-signing, reading over grain reports, and settling disputes came at a time when he was still grieving over the loss of his father.

He fell into bed exhausted every night, tense and aching, too busy in the day to head to Gaius’s and have the kinks in his back massaged out. The stress piled up, and little things began to set him off—the constant disarray of his rooms, the blandness of his food, aches in places he couldn’t reach—and when Merlin _accidentally_ spilt wine down the front of his breeches, he shot up like a firecracker and raged at Merlin for a good fifteen minutes, blaming him for the terrible weather and resulting grain reports, and _don’t tell me you don’t know where my favourite tunic’s disappeared to, Merlin!_.

Arthur had been itching for some conflict so he could vent his frustrations on someone whom he didn’t have to be careful about offending, but Merlin had been taken aback, his usual cheeky retorts absent. Eventually he ran out of steam and, not getting the fight he had expected, left the room abruptly.

***

 

Later that night, Arthur sighed and prepared for bed, changing out of his clothes for the day. He was about to slide in under the covers when he heard his bedroom door creak open. In a swift movement he grabbed his sword and pressed himself to the wall.

He exhaled with relief when he saw who it was—just Merlin, wearing a soft-looking sleep tunic, worn breeches, and _socks_ for some reason, despite the heat of the summer nights.

“Arthur,” Merlin said, approaching him carefully as if tip-toeing around a spooked animal. He held out a vial. “I brought oil, to ease out the kinks. Gaius said you look like you need a good massage.”

Arthur considered it for a moment, and then nodded. It would relax him and make sure he was fresh on the morrow. It would not be good to snap at his council.

Turning towards the bed, he stripped off his tunic and lay face down, palms open at his sides.

He felt the bed dip as Merlin climbed onto it.

“May I sit on you, Sire? It’d be easier that way,” Merlin asked, his voice quiet.

Arthur acquiesced. Right then, he’d have given almost anything to get rid of the ache accumulated in his strained muscles.

Cool air hit his bare skin as Merlin lifted his tunic. A clink of the bottle sounded, and then Merlin was working his fingers over Arthur’s muscles, massaging the soreness and tension out, quick and clever, and the feeling of relief made Arthur moan. He stopped, embarrassed, but Merlin just laughed.

“Feel good?” Merlin murmured just inches away from his ear. He shivered, goose pimples rising on his skin.

“Yes. Continue, please.”

He felt Merlin’s hands on him again, but this time alternating between the firm press of fingers were fleeting touches ghosting across his skin, over the small of his back; it was almost provocative—sensual.

“You have beautiful skin, Arthur,” Merlin said softly.

Arthur grunted. He wasn’t paying much attention to anything apart from the fingers sliding across his skin—until they went lower and fondled the rounds of his arse over his breeches. He started in shock.

“It’s alright Arthur, just relax,” Merlin said, soothing. “We can’t have a stroppy king in council tomorrow, can we?” His fingers were already reaching underneath to unlace Arthur’s breeches and pull them down.

“ _Merlin!_ I’m, uh… not king…” Arthur resisted, trying for control, but the fingers skittering between his thighs sent the blood rushing down south, leaving him light-headed.

“In all but name,” Merlin replied, serious. And then Arthur's breeches were around his knees.

Arthur felt Merlin shift and prise the cheeks of his arse apart, blowing softly over his hole. He shivered. It was… intimate in a way that having a tumble with other servants hadn’t been. And when he felt the first gentle press of a wet tongue, he lost his hold on the last coherent thoughts in his head.

The feeling was pleasure and pain all at once—not that it was painful, but it tore all of his defenses apart; giving himself up entirely to Merlin caused a deep ache in him. This trust that they had, forged over sacrifices and secrets and near-deaths, felt almost tenuous at times. Coming apart in Merlin’s hands, he felt vulnerable and exposed, and he couldn’t help the cries that came from his throat as Merlin speared his tongue into him, over and over again.

The intensity of the pleasure made him squeeze his fists tight in the bed linens, hips unconsciously shifting so his cock could get some friction. Pity that the sheets were light and smooth, not woolspun as it would have been in winter; the friction wasn’t near enough to ease his swollen cock.

Merlin nibbled the rim of his arse gently, then laved it with his tongue and used his fingers to hold Arthur open, allowing his tongue even more room to thrust inside.

He felt the heat intensify deep in his belly, rising in a crescendo until finally with one last brutal stab of Merlin’s tongue, he came in a rush, come spilling out and staining the sheets.

Merlin was breathing hard behind him, the slick sounds of him stripping his own cock loud in the stillness of the room, and the mental image of those slender fingers over his long, red cock had Arthur biting his lip and putting his own hands on himself, coaxing out the last dribbles of come.

***

 

In the aftermath, Arthur stared at the wet spot in the middle of his sheets and groaned.

“Merlin, you’re responsible for this,” he said, the afterglow gentling his words.

“Yes, of course,” Merlin replied absently, then with a flash of golden eyes, the wet spot disappeared, his sheets even more pristine than they had been.

Arthur went silent. Watching Merlin use magic had always sent a thrill of fear and awe through him. The knowledge that this person he’d thought a fool was more powerful than anyone else he knew was humbling and, at times made him feel strangely protective—even though he was sure that Merlin would say he could take care of himself. And he could. After all, he had been protecting _him_ all this time.

“When I am king…” he started.

“When you are king,” Merlin repeated.

“I will lift the ban on magic,” Arthur said softly.

The lights made Merlin’s skin glow, his eyes filled with gentle affection.

“And you will be the greatest king Albion will ever know.”


End file.
